


Echoes

by WinterDreams



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:58:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterDreams/pseuds/WinterDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very short ficlet about helping each other deal with the nightmares/night terrors caused by all they witnessed during the battle of Minas Tirith and nearly losing each other. </p><p>I always imagined that despite their ability to continue with healthy and accomplished lives once they return to the Shire, Pippin and Merry would have plenty of their own PTSD to deal with, and they would help the other cope with it. This is one small example. Written for my friend's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babbyspanch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbyspanch/gifts).



_The sound never changes._

_No matter where he goes, no matter where he hides, no matter how many times the scenery changes, it never fades._

_Always, always the same screeching._

_There’s fire everywhere, embracing the men around him, decorating the homes he passes, caressing the white stones beneath his feet, dancing across the red horizon, and laughing at his heels. Black spots begin to flicker at the edges of his vision like dark will-o-wisps, and the streets continue to stretch endlessly, turn after turn, bloody staircase after bloody staircase. All the while the fire tries to play with him as it does with the Orcs._

_He’s not supposed to be here._

_None of them are._

_It’s supposed to be over._

_Why isn’t it over?_

_He can hear somebody calling his name over and over again, drifting on the cold wind that’s choked with screams and smoke._

_He has to escape this city._

_He has to get to the fields._

_He has to follow the voice crying for him before it fades into nothingness forever._

_But the screeching just gets louder and louder now, drowning out all other sounds, pinning everyone to the ground with the sheer terror it inflicts, and now there are the panicked screams of the dying joining it in one unbearable symphony, and blood is pouring from his ears at the very sound–_

The screeching is still echoing in Pippin’s ears when he wakes, the memory of both nightmare and past so strong that he falls right out of bed in his flailing attempts to protect his body and find cover. The second his body touches the ground, he rolls under his bed, curling into as tight of a ball as he can as his eyes strain to catch a glimpse of the Nazgul. When he finally remembers where he is, safe in his home, he slowly uncurls his trembling limbs and crawls out from the small space he’d hidden in. The moonlight is shining through, neither cloud nor Nazgul ruining the clear night sky.

 _You’ve made a right mess again,_ he thinks to himself as he glances over at the blankets now dangling from his bed and pooling on the ground.

The pillow has somehow ended up half-way across the room, but at least it is still _in_ the room. Pippin had learned the hard way to keep the window closed lest he wanted to lose another pillow to the animals. They would probably have enough to make their own castle soon.

Pippin moves about the room in the dark collecting all the items now strewn across the floor, comforted by the cover the darkness provides him even if rationally he knows he is now safe. He no longer has to run through the burning streets of Minas Tirith as Men die all around him, and no longer has to fear the Eye’s gaze will fall on his pitifully small form. No longer has to worry about finding Merry too late, his cousin gone to a place where Pippin can no longer sing or laugh with him.

Pippin gives a shake of his head and hurries back into bed, tossing and turning as he had the night he’d looked into the Palantir of Orthanc. Exhaustion has fled him as quickly as Shadowfax, and no matter how many songs he hums both out loud and in his head, sleep refuses to be coaxed from where it has hidden from him. The room seems too big now, even though all the Hobbits consider it a very cozy Hobbit hole indeed. After a few more minutes of restless movement, the red refusing to leave the darkness whenever he closes his eyes, Pippin flings the blankets aside and stares up at the dark ceiling. Even with the nightmare retreating into the recesses of memory, he can still hear the faint calling, crying out for him again and again and again. The old fear stirs with each echo, and with one last exhale, Pippin jumps up and hurries out of his home.

It is quiet outside, just as it always is no matter how much time passes. Nobody else is around, and Pippin would have just run right into them and then got back up with only a breathless apology before continuing on his way. He stops when he reaches the gate of the Hobbit hole he’s been striving for, rocking back on his heels as he stares at the painted door. Only a second has passed when the door suddenly swing opens and another Hobbit steps out before going still at the sight of Pippin.

“Evening, Merry,” Pippin greets his cousin, forcing as much careless cheer into his voice as possible. Merry’s curls are sticking everywhere, and Pippin imagines his must look the same.

“Come to interrupt my sleep with more of Gimli’s songs, have you?” Merry replies with an exaggerated sigh before stepping to the side. “Well you might as well come in now and hopefully you won’t take till the sun comes up.”

“Oh I will,” Pippin assures him as he steps inside Merry’s dark home. Neither of them had even thrown on a cloak before leaving their homes. “It’s a historical one this time. I think Gimli nearly ran out of parchment when he wrote it out for me.”

Pippin follows his cousin down the winding halls to Merry’s bedroom, joining Merry on the bed without hesitation. He scurries to the wall side and presses up against it, Merry having settled by the headboard. Their feet nudge each other under the blankets, Pippin giving Merry’s a hard jab while Merry just rolls his eyes before retaliating. A smug grin stretches across his face when Pippin scowls and pulls his foot back.

“Let’s hear the song, Pip,” Merry says after a moment of Pippin staring out the window. Pippin stays still, and Merry says nothing more, simply waits until Pippin turns to him with a bright smile.

“Listen carefully, Merry, Gimli will want to listen to the result of our hard labours next time we see him.”

Pippin clears his throat and then launches into the song, Merry having memorized the lyrics weeks ago during their earlier nightly visits. Pippin sings it in a soft voice, filling the quiet room with its sweet sound and wrapping around the Hobbits more warmly than any blanket they owned. When Merry feels himself start to relax and sleep reach for him with gentle hands, he flings his own hand toward Pippin. Pippin reaches for it right away, tangling their fingers together and allowing himself to be pulled down by Merry. The blanket is only wrapped around their legs and feet, but as Pippin snuggles closer to Merry without shame, the body heat from the other is enough to keep each of them warm.

“Pippin?” Merry whispers even as he dangles from the precipice of sleep.

“Mmm?”

“Was it Gondor again?”

“Always.”

Silence. Just when Merry begins to let himself go, Pippin shifts in his arms and slurs,

“You?”

“The same as it always is.”

Somehow, Pippin manages to move closer and his arms grip tighter. There’s not much point in asking, but the words are forced out anyways, just as they always are.

“Pip? Are you going to leave?”

“No, Merry. I’m going to take care of you.”

The lines are as familiar as well-rehearsed play, and Merry feels the tight knots that have been strangling him ever since he awoke from the nightmare ease a little. Where he might tease Pippin that taking care of them is his job as the oldest, or simply remain quiet, he finds it in him to speak once more.

“Will you stay until morning?”

“Yes.”

“And tomorrow night, too?”

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, no beta so any mistakes are on me.


End file.
